


I Think I Might’ve Inhaled You

by WhoopsOK



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fandom Trumps Hate, First Time, Multi, Resolved Consent Issues, Sex Pollen, Sibling Incest, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-20 21:47:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10671438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoopsOK/pseuds/WhoopsOK
Summary: "Sam knows what he has to do, ignores Dean calling his name as he storms out of the room, fear and revulsion rolling in his gut. Sometimes you just have to sweat the fever out alone before you contaminate anyone else."(Sam gets hit with a love potion that makes it hard to keep himself in check.)





	I Think I Might’ve Inhaled You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [puckity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/puckity/gifts).



> For the wonderful puckity!
> 
> (Title from "Bloodstream" by Stateless)

Sam’s pretty sure Dean didn’t do it intentionally, but he’s still annoyed.

They’d gotten word that a witch’s house was set to be condemned and that she might have left behind some things better left out of laymen’s hands. They went up with the intent to destroy any cursed objects and take any sacred tomes before the repo men got the chance to accidently hex themselves. And yeah, Dean _probably_ hadn’t snuck up on him – not on a case, not in an M.I.A. witch’s house – but he still moved pretty damn silently. So even if he _was_ being a dick, he _probably_ hadn’t thought he’d startle Sam so badly that he’d shoot up – in all his 6’4” glory – and knock the closet shelf down on himself.

It’d have been one thing if it was just full of shoes, but his life was never that simple. As the shelf clattered down, several glass vials popped around his feet and a tin of powder fell directly in his face. The tingling that shot over his skin let him know that, fragrantly floral though they were, these were not just perfumes.

By the time he stopped coughing, Castiel was standing by looking them over with amusement and concern. His expression took a hard shift towards amusement when he bent to look through the notes accompanying the scattered vials. Apparently, they were the prototypes and final, successful attempt at something called _Crush Powder_. There was no ingredient list, but the scrawled note confirmed that in _1977_ , a young witch named Hebe wanted her lovers to trip over themselves to get to her and attempted to mix up a concoction to make it so. However, it apparently didn’t work well enough for her and wound up in this closet to rot for four decades. Just on touch, Castiel was sure that on their own – with their aged, amateur magic – the potions weren’t _harmful_ , but he was still hesitant to mix ingredients to try and _cure_ Sam when they weren’t sure exactly what was used in them.

Sam’s just going to have to deal with feeling a little more lovey than usual.

Hence the slight annoyance.

Because now he’s twitching in the front seat, stewing in his own sweat, brain fogged up on the want twisting in his stomach. It’s not bad, not really; it would actually be sort of pleasant if he was alone. Sam hasn’t had any rec drugs since that ditch weed he bought in college, but he’s feeling his attention slip between completely fuzzy and bizarrely focused almost like he’s high, lost in the warm haze of his own simmering lust. Every bump in the road has him tensing up as if the motion itself is about to come alive and pin his wrists down, bite his lips. If they could sell this stuff, they’d make _bank._ He feels high on his own need to just… _touch_ and be touched and touch again, harder and slicker and between his—

When Robert Plant’s voice slides through the radio riding a hard drum beat to beg, “ _Squeeze me baby, ‘til the juice runs down my leg,_ ”  he actually gets a little hard in his jeans. He’s so muddled up he doesn’t even realize Dean is doing it on purpose until he glances over and sees the barely stifled laughter all over his face which— _hell,_ does exactly nothing to help.

It’s not late enough that the darkness properly obscures Dean’s face, the amusement lighting his eyes and the orange of an almost sunset cutting across his freckles down to where he’s biting his smile.  Sam has loved that face for as long as he’s lived and right now – happy, fond, and teasing as it is – it makes the knot of want in his stomach twist tighter and sends a flush up his cheeks. It isn’t that he’d forgotten, he hasn’t forgotten a single thing about his brother, but it can still catch him off guard when he’s not ready for it; Dean is _gorgeous_.

As it stands, he files that knowledge and this image away – locks it up with all the rest of… _this –_ and twists his face into annoyance. He’s good at this game, he knows how to play. “Seriously?”

Dean actually laughs then and Sam whips around when he catches Castiel glancing away to hide the guilty smile flickering on his lips. “ _Seriously!?_ ” he exclaims and when Castiel’s smile slides more towards sweet and apologetic, it makes Sam’s heart jerk into a funny rhythm. He slams in a cassette of Judas Priest instead just to give himself the chance to look away. He tries to focus on his annoyance, but even that feels watery against the slight buzzing in his skin.

When they get back to the bunker, Sam decides – with a little nudge from the wet spot in his underwear – that he just needs to get off. They were love potions, right? And masturbation is a _kind_ of self-love, sure, Sam loves himse—

He shoves that thought away, uses a mental broomstick to avoid having to touch it, and tries to remember the last porno he watched. It works, _barely_ , unsatisfyingly as he comes over the shower wall, his forehead pressed to the tile. But by the time they finish eating dinner, the dull thrum of desire simmers back to the surface even as his dick stays soft against his thigh. Ok, so it’s not like Viagra, that’s… good? Not having a permanent boner is a plus. He would, however, like to be able to focus of the desire slowly frying his brain every time he makes eye contact with Dean or Castiel. …Maybe that’s it? Maybe there has to be another person

Dean laughs him out the door when Sam strides into the main room like a man determined, pants pressed and wearing his good cologne. When he shouts not to get married in Vegas again, Sam stays on script and flips him off. It’s a performance, yes, but he isn’t an amateur, he knows what he’s doing. Even with Dean’s laughter ringing in his ears and fluttering in his chest, when he sits down at the first dive bar he passes on the highway, it doesn’t take long at all. Sam can tell when people get off on how he could probably pick them up and fuck them against a wall – _he can and has_ – so when the girl he just ordered a drink for wanders over, he knows what she’s looking for. He knows he’s a big guy, he’s just good at not making it known when he doesn’t need to. Now, he crowds her slightly, blocking her view of the bar, watching as his heat blows her eyes wide, wanting.

She got off on him and he got off on the slide of her and smell of her skin and the sticky-sweet of her lip gloss and the way she clenched and gasped and panted just softly enough that the people outside the bathroom door wouldn’t hear. It’s grungy, yes, but as someone who grew up in and out of dives, it’s still an aesthetic Sam can appreciate. He comes pretty spectacularly when she fists his hair and curses against his cheek. She doesn’t give him her number and he’s too distracted to remember to be bothered.

They’ve hardly got their clothes back on and her make up wiped off his face before he starts to feel it again. This time, though, the desire stings a little too much to be called a pleasant haze.

Sam sleeps, though it’s restless and he wakes up with a dream – _or a memory, it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t count_ – still fogging up his brain and his boxers sticking to him. He sighs, annoyed and itchy, but forces himself out of bed and into the shower. There’s a case, because there always is, so he throws himself into research with the hopes of distracting himself from his unease.

It works a lot like cramming for an exam with a caffeine induced migraine. Which is to say he does it, but every other thought or so he’s zeroing in on his own discomfort. It’s not _pain_ , not exactly, but it does _ache_. He doesn’t know what part of this equation he’s missing and is just about to get up and break into their confiscated spell books when Dean’s hand claps against his shoulder and Sam’s whole body jerks. For one blinding moment, the haze in his mind recedes and there is only the oddly familiar pleasure of Dean’s heat mingling with his _._

“ _Woah_ ,” Dean says drawing his hand away and Sam has to clench everything he’s got to not reach and drag it back. “What’s got you all jumpy?”

“Nothing, sorry,” Sam says and tries not to lose himself at the loss of contact. He wants it, his desire for it is _alive,_ pulsing in his chest like a second heart, something too wiggly and visceral to file away neatly like normal. Damn him if he doesn’t try, though, brain clearing slightly at the concern in Dean’s face. He shrugs, “I was distracted.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Dean says, eyeing him carefully.

“Are you feeling alright?” Castiel chimes in, brow all pinched in concern.

Sam tries his best to look confused. “Yeah,” he answers with a lot more confidence than he feels. He turns back to the book he was reading, “And I think I found something.”

Speaking gets complicated when Sam has to count his breaths as Dean and Castiel lean over his shoulders to see what he’s pointing out, but he didn’t go to college become a lawyer because he lost his words under pressure. He lets the warmth of the nearness of their bodies settle him and solves the case.

Or, sort of. Hybrid monsters were always tricky to deal with, but even though Sam gets thrown out a window and has one hell of a shiner, nobody dies except the monster – Sam counts that as a win. His heart was in his throat for a half second there, but Dean has always had his back and has always had _spectacular_ aim. They’re fine. That’s not why he’s on edge.

It’s because Dean and Castiel rushing to his side, both of them alive and exertion flushed and _beautiful and alive_ , are not in his arms. He doesn’t think he wants anything more in the world than for them to be pressed against his body, blood and sweat be damned, to confirm they’re safe, real, here, _his_. He sags when Dean pats his arm, touches his eye, “You good?”

For one crazy moment, he considers lying just so Dean will keep touching him. He clenches and unclenches his fists, takes a breath as his nails bite his palms. “I’m good, you?”

“I’m fine,” Dean says and his face is all bright and relieved now and Sam wants to run his fingers along the lines of Dean’s smirk. “You took a harder hit than I did.”

“Let me heal you,” Castiel says instantly, but Sam waves him off, isn’t sure what Castiel’s grace in conjunction with the touch of his hands will do to him right now.

“It’s fine, Cas, really,” Sam smiles tiredly, “Just a black eye.”

Castiel narrows his eyes at him, sizing him up, and something about the dedicated concern in his eyes hits Sam in the stomach. That’s why, he defends, he isn’t prepared when Castiel’s arms close around him. It’s only his stellar reflexes that keep him from crashing to the ground.

It’s just a hug; just a relieved hug from his friend with no ulterior motives and it is possibly _the best thing Sam has felt this year_. Abruptly, the boiling want in his mind starts to recede and he realizes he hasn’t been feeling _anything_ like right in days until this moment. When he wraps his arms around Castiel, the relief is so intense he doesn’t remember to laugh and pat his back, he doesn’t remember to let go, just melts shakily into Castiel’s embrace. He tucks his face against Castiel’s shoulder because he has to, he’s gotten a little teared up – mostly at the fact that Castiel doesn’t even hint at letting him go first.

To admit that he isn’t sure how long they stand there, his face hidden in Castiel’s trench coat and Castiel’s hands warm against his back, scares the hell out of him; he’s _always_ aware of passing time. But he knows it was too long when he hears Dean call his name and lifts his face to see his brother’s eyes wide and worried. He comes back to himself and all but jumps away from Castiel.

“Sorry, that was…good,” he says, then clears his throat and tries again, “ _I’m_ good.” They’re both watching him like they don’t quite believe him and he wishes he could press the furrows out of their brows, maybe with his hands, maybe with his lips. He shakes himself, trying to clear the dizzy contentedness that is quickly draining with distance. “I’m good, let’s head home. Now.”

Because this can’t keep happening, he’s _got_ to find a way to cure this.

It takes about a week straight of brushing up on his knowledge of spells and potions, mixing his own, trying his own, and washing his face with _holy water_ for Sam to realize that something isn’t right. He figured, and the spell books confirm, that whatever he was hit with should’ve faded _ages_ ago, especially if it was that stale. There’s no reason for him to still be all hopped up like some horny, touch starved teenager, feeling the tickly urge to touch anyone he lays eyes on.

Academically, Sam is fascinated. It isn’t a very powerful spell, not if it was made by a hobby-witch decades ago, but something about it has affected him on a deeper level than was probably initially intended.

Realistically, Sam is freaking out.

It’s getting to the point that he can’t quite keep his hands to himself. When he passes things to Castiel and Dean, he lets their fingers brush, has to bite his jaw over the way the sensation kicks him in the chest. He keeps adjusting Castiel’s clothes and dusting imaginary dust off Dean’s sleeve; it’s not enough, but it’s something, it’s keeping the fog in his mind from completely taking over for a few moments. Now, he’s sitting back behind his pile of books, trying to focus over the burning in his eyes and the tingles racing up and down his legs. He wants someone to rub them away—no, not just someone, he wants—

“Come on, Sammy,” Dean’s voice cuts through Sam’s already shoddy focus like a hot knife, making the words on the page before him swim. He barely manages to twist the deep relief out of his exhausted sigh when Dean’s hands land on his shoulders. “Time to hit the hay.”

Sam glances at his watch, unsurprised to see it reads 4am for the fourth time this week. Rubbing his eyes, he shrugs petulantly, just so Dean will keep his hands on him for a few moments longer, maybe clear his head enough to see the page again. “Dean, ‘m fine, go back to bed,” he mumbles even as Dean pulls him from his chair.

“No, you’ve had more caffeine this week than a tweeker coming down,” Dean says, his voice uncommonly gentle for how chiding it is, and Sam wants to curl up inside it for the entire duration of the foreseeable future. “You’re sleeping it off,” he says and, _ok_ , maybe Sam is a _little_ tired, because he blinks and they’re already standing in his room.

The bed feels too cold when he lands on it, though, like losing the connection of Dean’s hands on him sent a breeze through the room. When Dean’s hand closes around his ankle – just to tug his shoe off – Sam actually whines a little, and doesn’t even have the mind to hope it sounds less needy than it does. The tingles in his legs are back, but, suddenly, he knows how to make them stop.

“Oh, quit your bitching, I— _hey!_ ” Dean’s voice clips when Sam pulls him by the arm. He stumbles backward, landing half on top of Sam who goes lax, the prickles in his extremities turning into thrumming pleasure.

“What are you—?” Dean asks as he turns to look at him, but his whole body goes stiff when Sam’s arms close tighter around his waist and tug him down into the bed.

Sam notices Dean freeze the moment it happens, but the meaning behind that doesn’t register immediately. When it does, he goes still as well, the contact clearing his head enough that he is suddenly aware of himself and exactly what he’s doing. He isn’t startled fully awake, though, until Dean chuckles uncomfortably, “Uh, you’re a little big for this now, Sammy.”

Sam is too big for this, he’s too old, he’s a grown man, and _Dean doesn’t touch him like this anymore, he hasn’t for over a decade._ And Sam knows why, he’s known all along.

The knowledge seems to strike somewhere deep and resonate, a pain that Sam has experienced before. The raw, sinking despair that he’s about to lose everything if he doesn’t _stop himself_. The same fear that made him cut and run all the way to California at eighteen grips him in the present day and sends him flying upright, hurdling off the bed.

“Sam?” Dean says, launching to his feet at the same time Sam does.

Sam can’t even speak. He can’t do this, he can’t lose this, what is he _doing?_ The potion didn’t _make_ him want to touch them, of course it didn’t. Regardless of whatever the spell was _meant_ to do, it has fractured his control enough to let his impulses slip through. If it isn’t fading properly with time, some other factor has to be at play here.

Like Sam being weak enough to continually indulge his urges to touch, pacifying his symptoms. Like Sam being _stupid_ enough to ever have believed they were symptoms of some nearly expired love potion and not just the result of him being _sick_.

Sam knows what he has to do, ignores Dean calling his name as he storms out of the room, fear and revulsion rolling in his gut. Sometimes you just have to sweat the fever out alone before you contaminate anyone else.

Castiel’s voice joins Dean’s when he rounds the corner but Sam throws a warning hand out before Castiel can get close. “ _Don’t touch me!!_ ” he shouts and Castiel pauses in alarm, just long enough for Sam to rush past and slam the door to the bunker’s safe room.

“Wait!!” he hears Dean call as he throws the locks in place. He steps back when the handle jiggles, secure even as Dean shakes it. “Sam, open this door!”

Sam paces the room, his hands in his hair, trying to focus on the fact that they’re _his hands_ , no one else’s, _no more fantasies_. He tugs harder. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” Dean says and Sam hears his hands falling on the door. “Sam, talk to us. What’s going on?”

“You can’t touch me,” Sam explains quickly.

“Can’t _touch you?_ ” Dean repeats. “What are you talking about?”

“Is this about the crush powder?” Castiel calls and Sam doesn’t answer, but his silence seems to be answer enough. “Sam, I told you, nothing in that could hurt you _or_ us. You don’t need to be _quarantined_.”

“Yeah, I do,” Sam insists, “because it’s not just the potion, it’s _me_. There’s something wrong with me, I’m just… I’m _unclean._ ” He crosses to the furthest wall, wrapping his arms around himself though it does nothing to comfort him. “Dean knows that deep down and so do you. You clocked me for an _abomination_ the moment we met, because I have _always_ been unclean.”

“Sam, that is _not_ true,” Castiel retorts instantly, tensely. “I was wrong to ever think that and I certainly don’t believe it _now_.”

“Yeah, and whatever kind of dirty you are, you probably got from _me_ ,” Dean continues and it should be a _joke_ , but he sounds dead serious. “I’m whatever you are, Sam, you can’t _corrupt_ me. Not even under the influence of some—some stupid _love junk,_ for fuck’s sake.”

“It’s not the potion, Dean, I’ve wanted you since I was sixteen!!” Sam shouts suddenly, the confession feeling nothing like relief and more like vomiting. “Do you hear me!?” He accentuates each word by pounding his fist on the wall, “ _Six-fucking-teen_ and I was coming in the shower to the things I wanted you to do to me.” He’s angry now, at himself and fate and every other power in the universe for letting him feel like this, letting him ruin the best thing he has. “You know what else happened when I was sixteen?” He swallows his disgust at himself and says, “You kissed me for the last time.”

Sam hears Dean move, can imagine his head dropping, can imagine him moving away from the door. “Oh _,_ _Christ,_ Sammy,” he mutters like Sam punched the words out of him.

“You kissed me to be funny, but I opened up for you because it was _never_ a joke to me how much I loved you, how _bad_ I wanted you,” Sam babbles, unable to stop himself now that he’s started, now that one of the most hurtful secrets he’s ever kept is out.

It had been so _perfect_ , standing barefoot in the bathroom, wincing while Dean doused his face with aftershave after his first time shaving. They were laughing and happy – _Dean loved teaching him things and Sam loved learning_ – and then his lips were on Sam’s and Sam’s whole _body_ sang, right up until he opened his mouth and Dean froze. Sam’s tongue had barely brushed Dean’s lips before Dean was moving away. The change in his eyes had been subtle, but Sam knew few things in the world better than he knew his brother. He’d shocked him, something he’d done out of _joy_ had _hurt_ Dean. Even the way Dean laughed and ruffled his hair after had stung, Sam remembers, he can’t make himself _forget_.

“You stopped kissing me _right then_ , because you saw what I had twisted every little kiss and touch into, didn’t you?” Sam demands, “You knew I was the one in the wrong and you tried to teach me and I swear, Dean, I _tried,_ but it doesn’t go away.” He puts his head in his hands, pressing against his eyes like he is trying to rub the image out of them. “Even when I ran off to college and chased girls and chased guys, even after every time I tried to restart my life without you, even when I fell in love with an _angel out of heaven’s fucking army_ , I still… I never got over how much I wanted my big brother.” Sam rubs his hand over his mouth and admits so softly he’s not even sure they can hear him, “You’re all there’s ever been for me, D.”

A beat passes in which Sam can only hear his own breathing. He laughs, humorlessly to break the silence.

“See?” he croaks, “I told you, I _told_ you. I’m unclean. That’s the only reason this potion has me so messed up when it should’ve faded _days_ ago.” He sits down, brings his knees up to his chest, “I’m not going to use some _stupid_ love curse to get what I’ve always wanted, I’m messed up enough without that on my conscious. So you two just—”

Dean’s voice cuts through his, loud and sharp. “Sam, you better open this damn door before Cas burns it out _._ ”

Sam doesn’t move immediately, startled motionless by his brother’s tone. It isn’t until he hears the ringing sound of Castiel’s grace flaring up that he scrambles to his feet. Dean’s fist pounds on the door, “Now, Sammy, move it!”

Even though he can’t make himself open the door, he unlocks it. The door flies open just short of knocking him over, Dean and Castiel rushing in as Sam turns away. He doesn’t look up at them, he doesn’t need to; he can feel the tension from here. He doesn’t know what they want, maybe just to tell him off face to face? Dean and Castiel are not cowards, they’d want to look him in his eyes when they told him how badly he’d fucked up – how badly he _was_ fucked up. The door is a buffer _Sam_ would want, one he is not worthy of.

So he stands there, waiting to get yelled at, get socked in the jaw, whatever the reprimand is, he just wants it over with. He has to be alone after this, he knows that. If this has to be the end, he’ll take whatever he can get from them, even if it’s violence. Especially if its violence, because Sam knows that pain can feel a lot like love and, regardless, violence is still _touch_. He would let them hurt him if it means they would stay with him for a few moments longer.

“Sam…”

The gentle way Castiel says his name startles him enough that he accidentally looks up. The _remorse_ on Castiel’s face surprises him even more. He glances at Dean and sees nothing but pain, but before he can even get it in his head to try and say something, Castiel steps up closer to him. He tenses, anxious.

“…You are one of the best men I’ve ever met,” Castiel says with so much sincerity Sam jerks, looking away.

“Cas…” he warns, stepping back, but Castiel just follows him.

“You’ve been through things that would send normal people to their knees and you still get up and ‘fight the good fight’ every day of your life,” Castiel continues emphatically. “You were supposed to turn on humanity, I was taught you were _destined_ to do so, but you still _didn’t._ Things went badly, yes, things have taken very dark turns for you, but you’re _still here today_ ,” he grabs Sam’s hand as he says this and Sam makes an embarrassingly weak sound, relief and _disbelief_ flooding his body. “You’re still kind, smart, charming and _pure_ and still making the world better,” Castiel smiles as he tugs Sam forward into his arms, “Still making _my_ life better.”

“ _Castiel,_ ” he tries again, but his voice breaks. Castiel is warm and close and _right_ against him, he smells familiar and the rumble of his voice sets Sam to shaking.

“I appreciate your hugs, too,” Castiel says close to Sam’s ear, one hand coming up to awkwardly pet the back of his head. Sam would laugh except for how it’s heartbreakingly sweet and done in genuine affection that makes his soul settle. “I don’t feel the desire for physical affection often, but touching you is always pleasant. You make me feel safe and…” he admits the next part softly, as if it’s meant to be a secret, “like I belong.” He tips his head so it’s pressed against Sam’s, “You have never once made me feel dirty, because you are _not_ an abomination _,_ you are a _blessing_.”

“No, Cas, _Castiel_ , please,” Sam begs, his mind is swimming and his eyes are brimming with tears. Sam is a curse, he just is. What happened to him as a baby wasn’t his fault, but that doesn’t change the fact that it happened. He can’t bless anyone when he corrupts everything he touches. “You can’t say that, it’s not _true_.”

“It is true. I’m an angel, I think I know a bit about what blessings are,” Castiel replies, at once dry and fond. “I am grateful for you every day of my life. So is Dean, so are a lot of other people. You are a great man, Sam Winchester, but you’re a good one, too,” Castiel’s tone gets lighter, even as he hugs Sam closer, “I love that about you.”

Sam’s first thought is “ _no”_ , but when he tries to say it, the word can’t even escape his throat. He’s focused too hard on not sobbing even as he clings to Castiel like he can’t let go. It can’t be true, but Sam can feel that Castiel believes every word of it and that loosens something in his chest he hadn’t known was held so tightly. These weren’t the tears he’d thought he was holding back, he thought he’d accepted what an _angel_ must think of someone like him. But here with Castiel’s arms around him and his breath warm against Sam’s shoulder, he realizes he’s been waiting for this, too. Castiel’s love feels like absolution. But.

But Dean hasn’t moved from the doorway, his face purposefully blank as he watches them. Sam doesn’t know if he honestly can’t see past this mask or is just too afraid to make himself look.

Castiel lets him go when he steps back, clearing his throat and wiping his face harshly. Meeting his brother’s gaze makes his stomach swim in the worst possible way, but he makes himself do it. “Dean, look, I…”

“If I had known,” Dean cuts in, voice tight and unsteady, “If I had known, you could’ve had this all along, Sammy.”

“ _No_ ,” Sam thinks and is able to get the word out this time. Because Sam knows what Dean would do for him, he’s _seen_ it, but he doesn’t want to ask any more. He’s already heavy under the weight of things he couldn’t _help_ but take _,_ he couldn’t _stand_ under the weight of taking something that Dean doesn’t really want to give. “No, don’t say that, you—”

When Dean steps into his space, Sam’s words cut off because breathing stalls in his chest. He’s unprepared for Dean’s hand to grip his throat, but he tenses against his fight response as it happens. He shuts his eyes and waits for whatever Dean intends to do.

Dean does not squeeze or shove him away, though.

He just holds him there, Sam’s pulse beating against his thumb, as he leans up. Sam’s eyes fly open when Dean’s mouth lands on his, the choked noise he makes sounding too loud and desperate even to his own ears. Sam can feel none of the playfulness Dean had forced into their last kiss, he doesn’t even let him draw a proper breath. Dean continues kissing him tenderly until Sam – _Sam who has loved and wanted and dreamed and never_ once _dared hope_ – takes a risk and lets himself fall open again. Dean does not jerk back in disgust at the brush of Sam’s tongue. He hums against his mouth, his hand coming up to stroke Sam’s side.

Sam feels his knees weaken – the joy and relief and _heat_ more than he can take – but when he sags back, Castiel is there, arms wrapped strong and steady around him. “It’s ok,” he says softly and Sam whimpers and grips his sleeve as Dean continues to kiss him like he’s missed him, “I’ve got you.”

“We got you, Sammy,” Dean says against his lips, when he pulls back to look Sam in the eyes, he rests his hand on Sam’s cheek, skin to skin, _right as rain._

“Don’t let go,” Sam begs, the words leaping out before he can stop them. He doesn’t even realize his free hand has fisted itself into Dean’s shirt until he’s tugging him closer, pressing himself between their bodies.

“We won’t,” Dean soothes, smoothing his hand over Sam’s hair. When he kisses Sam’s cheek, Sam actually feels tears clogging his throat.

“Please don’t,” he whispers.

“We won’t,” Castiel repeats easily, kisses his neck sweetly as Dean reclaims his lips. “Not ever.”

“Can we touch you, Sammy?” Dean asks gently. “I know you wanted it, but will you let us?”

As Dean asks, Sam realizes he can actually feel himself… _feeling_ better.

The odd shiftiness, the creeping desire of the past few days is actually physically being pressed from his body as he stands between them. Through this whole conversation, looking them in the eyes has only lit him up in the familiar and _scary_ way when gazes meet between people who _know_ something has changed. He feels like his desire is his own, his urge to bite Dean’s lip and let Castiel grip his hips, is not the product of something out of a bottle. The high is fading, it isn’t threatening to choke him anymore. He could walk away right now and be ok, they all could but…

But Dean’s lips are pink and damp and his eyes are wide with the kind of emotion he normally tries to hide. But Castiel’s chest is hard against his back and his arms wrapped around him like he means to make good on his promise to never let go. He can feel their breath against his skin and he wants, _fuck_ , he wants to feel it race, he wants their hearts pounding and skin sliding against his. He doesn’t want to feel guilty when he feels _love_ anymore.

“It’s not so bad now,” Sam says, swallows. “I’m—I’ll be ok, if you don’t… Don’t feel like you have to—”

“I don’t think we’re asking just to cure you,” Castiel says before Sam can even finish the thought and he goes pink, turning slightly in their arms to meet Castiel’s gaze. “I wasn’t lying, Sam. Touching you is always pleasant. It would be no chore.” As if to solidify his point, he presses their noses together in a clumsy nuzzle-kiss that makes Sam laugh before he steals a peck from his lips. He catches Dean’s warm smile out of the corner of his eye before it turns longing as Castiel says, “And your brother has been waiting for you for a very long time.”

Dean acknowledges Castiel with a slight nod before hesitantly shifting his gaze back up to Sam, stroking a thumb over his cheek. “Do you still want us?”

Sam stares at him, nerves fluttering in his chest as he lets honesty win, “You’re all I ever want.”

Dean curses lowly, brokenly and drags Sam down into another kiss. “You are so…” he seems to not even know where he means to take that, instead just grabs them both by the sleeves as he drags them away.

They’re stumbling, because Sam won’t stop – he could, but he _won’t_ – touching them. Dean is leading him which gives him plenty of time to scrape his lips with Castiel’s stubble, while he can hardly think past Dean’s bruising grip on his arm. When they get to his door, their hands wandering over him feel like they’re chasing away the _years_ of guilty desire that has been lingering under his skin, not just some love junk from the past week. When Castiel’s hand finds it’s way up Sam’s shirt, he hums at the warm drag of Castiel’s calluses against his skin, stops kissing him long enough to let him flip his shirt over his head as Dean opens the door.

Sam laughs when Dean grabs playfully at his hair and pulls him inside. He’s feeling so warm and buzzed on touch that he doesn’t even put up a good fight when Dean shoves him back onto the bed, settling his hand on Sam’s thigh when he lands. He tugs at the end of Dean’s shirt giddily, smoothing his hand over the exposed skin when Dean agreeably takes it off. He’s touched him before, but not like this, he’s never gotten to just _touch_ for no reason other than that he wants to. He doesn’t feel anything wrong until he notices Castiel is still lingering in the doorway. It makes him pause.

“Cas?” Dean calls in confusion, following his eyes.

Castiel has his brow knit in concern again. “I’d… like to stay, if that’s alright,” he says, shuffling on his feet, “but I understand if it’s not. I don’t need this the same way you do.”

Dean glances at Sam’s face, sees the happy, natural desire in it and something in him relaxes. He motions Castiel forward, leaves his hand extended towards him. “Shut the door, Cas.”

Castiel does and comes forward slowly, flushing when Dean takes his hand as if he’s surprised.

Sam sighs when Dean pulls Castiel down onto the bed and lays his hand on Sam’s chest, over his heart. The trust in Dean’s eyes is not easy, but Castiel wouldn’t have made it this far if he wanted it to be. Sam is the most important person in the world to Dean, he knows that, knows that for Dean to trust Castiel with this, with _him_ is touching something knotted up deep inside him. It’s important, that Cas holds them through this, that he loves them through it.

That he sticks around after.

Sam understands that, but lays still under their hands and waits for Dean to unknot it for himself. Dean holds Castiel’s hand there until he can lift his gaze to look at him, a lot of questions and pleas in his eyes. He waits for Castiel to squeeze his fingers in silent understanding, before he lets go and runs his hands over Sam’s chest.

When Dean slides up the bed to lay against Sam’s front, Sam abruptly blushes like he’d forgotten where this was going. He wishes he’d taken off his pants, or chewed a mint, or had _any semblance_ of a plan or—or even just his usual _charm_ , because this is the _one_ first time that matters more than—

“Shh,” Dean says like he hears that internal panic. Sam’s breath shudders as Castiel’s hand sooths down his abs and Dean’s span over his chest. “Got you, Sammy,” he whispers in the space between them before sealing their lips together. Sam doesn’t think there’s ever going to be a day in his life where he doesn’t wish he was kissing his brother. He melts at the way Dean’s voice slips low as he says, “Just relax.”

Sam groans softly as Castiel undoes his belt and Dean moves to pull his pants down his legs. It’s not as fast as Sam would like, but Sam _does_ like how Dean can’t keep his hands off him long enough to even undress him properly. He’s studying his body, Sam thinks he might be trying to fill in all the gaps he’s made himself miss over the years. Because Dean’s mouth is hanging open slightly as his eyes catch on Sam’s arousal, growing as Castiel kisses his neck, as Dean stares at him.

“Wish I knew how t’…” Dean blinks, abruptly red and shocked at himself. Sam goes a little lightheaded himself from the mere _insinuation_ , his dick twitching tellingly. He pants when Dean bites his lip, looking genuinely distressed.

“I could show you sometime,” he blurts. It’s worth it for the way Dean’s eyes snap up to his and Castiel’s breathing pauses against his throat.

Dean rakes his blunt nails over his thighs, up to his waist and Sam’s mouth goes dry at the look in his eyes. He wonders what he’s seeing, where he imagines Sam’s knees have landed; wonders if Dean will let himself imagine Sam knelt before _him_.

“You can teach me?” he asks evenly, though he’s tenting his jeans, though he looks like he might not be breathing right. Sam definitely isn’t when Dean takes him in hand, settles between his knees, his shoulders keeping Sam’s legs spread. Dean smirks at the look on his face, “Sounds like fun.”

“I-I didn’t mean right _now_ , D, you don’t have to—”

“I want you everywhere, Sam,” Dean says in that laughing tone that means he isn’t joking at all and Sam’s heart twists. “You’re so fuckin’—I wanna make you feel good.”

Sam is too stunned to respond at first, but when he says, “You do,” and Dean’s whole face goes soft, he knows he answered correctly. “I just…” he bites his lip in sudden shyness, “Please keep touching me?” He’s comfortable here, with Dean between his legs and Castiel draped over his side, he’s more comfortable than he’s ever been with anyone else, even with the ache of his arousal. “Whatever you want, do it, just don’t stop…” he trails off when Castiel kisses his jaw, laying his leg over Sam’s and putting a warm hand on his throat.

“Would his tongue feel good?” Castiel asks and Sam shivers when he licks the shell of his ear. “Or just his lips? I would imagine that wouldn’t take too much finesse, right?”

As if to prove the point, Dean leans down and kisses Sam’s dick just above his fist, making Sam jerk in his grip. His hands shift about restlessly, unsure of whether to fist the sheets or make a grab for, “ _Dean._ ”

He doesn’t get an answer except Dean licking the head of Sam’s dick, making a startled then oddly considering sound when Sam leaks across his tongue. Sam would laugh at the surprised pleasure on Dean’s face, but he can’t think over the drag of his brother’s tongue over his arousal. He obviously doesn’t know what he’s doing, but the fact that he’s enjoying himself, that he’s enjoying _touching Sam_ is enough that Sam can’t quite lay still. He whimpers slightly when Dean actually tries to suckle him at the same time Castiel bites down his neck and across his chest, tongue laving over his nipple.

Dean’s eyes are blown when he looks up at the sound. There’s a moment where his tongue moves curiously, like he’s trying to figure out what to do, like he doesn’t realize that he’s making Sam’s whole body tingle just from being with him like this. He’s looking up at him imploringly and Sam remembers saying he would teach him, but that task belongs in the land of people who can use speech coherently. “That…” he croaks weakly, jerking when Dean’s laugh vibrates against him. Honestly, he’s been polite enough to keep his teeth out of the way thus far, Sam doesn’t really care to change anything he does. When Dean twists his hand, slick with his own drool, Sam actually moans out loud. “ _Yeah, Dean…_ ”

When Dean slides him out of his mouth, Sam sags against the bed, unaware he had even been tensed up. “Sammy,” he says softly, his lips still close enough to drag wetly over Sam’s dick. “What can I do to you?” His voice shakes as he asks, “Can I fuck you, Sammy?”

Abruptly, Sam remembers being awkwardly twisted in the dorm shower with his fingers up his ass, biting his lip so his roommate wouldn’t hear him moaning his brother’s name. He isn’t scared of being heard anymore. “ _Dean_ ,” he groans, writhing restlessly in Dean’s grip, “ _Yes,_ Dean, please— _ah!_ ” He lets his head fall back when Dean licks up from his balls, one hand gripping his thigh.

“Where’s your lube?” he asks, breath hot against Sam’s skin.

Sam tries to speak three times before giving up, pointing a shaky hand towards the nightstand over Castiel’s shoulder. Castiel leaves him with a little scrape of teeth across his chest before turning and riffling through his drawer.

“Have you done this before, Sammy?” Dean asks, leaning up to kiss Sam, to press their foreheads together. “Can you teach me this, too?”

Sam lets out a shuddering sigh against Dean’s lips, nodding shortly. “I’ll be your first?” he asks hesitantly, then jerks when Dean nips at his lips.

“Enjoy being able to say that, bitch,” Dean teases, but he’s pink and happy when he sits back slightly as Castiel returns to the bed.

“Don’t be a jerk,” Sam retorts on cue, the familiarity of the exchange easing him. He startles when Castiel comes back and pushes him up slightly to slide behind him. Sam settles back into the cocoon of Castiel’s arms, resting contentedly against his chest and watching with anticipation when Castiel and Dean’s fingers brush as Castiel passes him the bottle.

“Cas,” Dean says, keeping hold of Castiel’s hand, stroking his palm absently as he clicks open the lube.

“Yes, Dean?” Castiel answers easily with his chin hooked over Sam’s shoulder, one arm wrapped almost protectively around Sam’s chest. Sam is melting between them, especially when Dean looks up, eyes flickering heatedly between them.

 Castiel’s hand moves curiously when Dean closes it around Sam’s dick, making Sam breathe out unsteadily, “Touch him.”

“Of course,” Castiel says then presses his smile to Sam’s throat. “Whenever I can.”

Sam turns to catch his lips because it’s all he can think to do until Dean pushes his knees up. He keeps his face turned against Castiel’s because Dean is almost too much to look at as he slicks up his hand. “You can start with two if you—if you go slow,” Sam sucks in a breath, tries to calm himself down.

“Which, uh…” Dean starts to speak, but his eyes go unfocused as he slides his fingers over Sam’s hole.

The slick pressure of fingers sliding into him is not unfamiliar, but it’s _Dean_ and he has this way of wrecking Sam’s normal self-restraint, he always has, but Sam is _not_ going to come from _two fucking fingers_ barely in his ass, he’s not, not even if Castiel’s hand – slick and sloppy around him – is making his toes curl.

“Which way is your, uh,” Dean winces even as he says, “ _g-spot?_ ”

The laugh Sam lets out turns into a breathless pant when it makes Dean’s fingers jerk inside him. He holds his hand up and moves his fingers in demonstration, moving his hips only slightly impatiently. “Gentle,” he says and his head falls back on Castiel’s shoulder when Dean agreeably twists his fingers, finding and softly stroking him inside.  “ _Fuck,_ ” he whispers as Castiel kisses him.

“He’s going to,” Castiel says, somewhere between dry humor and anticipation, making Sam’s stomach flip. “No more waiting, Sam.”

“Never again,” Dean says, kissing Sam’s chest just above Castiel’s fingers. “Tell me when.”

“ _When_ ,” Sam gasps, rolling his hips down on Dean’s fingers up into Castiel’s grip. “Dean, it’s been—I’ve waited _years_ , I—” his voice shakes away to nothing when Dean kisses his throat.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Dean says softly, like a confession and Sam hears everything Dean has ever wished for in those words.

Sam dips his head to kiss him. “I won’t let you, ok?” he whispers, “Come on, D. No more waiting. I’m here, we’re _here_.”

Dean looks him in his eyes as he slicks up his third finger, letting it slip inside, which does all sorts of things to Sam’s heart. His mouth opens against the sting, but he doesn’t look away, doesn’t flinch at the sound he makes when Castiel’s thumb moves across his slit. He waits, because he promised, he waits until his breathing is something manageable and the burning has turned into an ache there’s only one way to stop.

“Please,” he whispers and Dean kisses the word out of his mouth.

“Ok, Sammy,” he answers softly, when he pulls his fingers out Sam can’t help the groan that escapes him, the way he sucks in a breath when Dean kisses him and Castiel strokes his chest soothingly. “Shh, I got you.” Dean makes quick work of his own pants kicking them off the end of the bed without looking. He swallows when he notices Sam staring, because really, Sam can’t help it. He’s spent years trying not to linger on how gorgeous Dean is, trying not to wonder what he looks like aroused, so of course he’s got to look now.

Dean’s bravado is only partly fake; he knows how good he looks. But the demure way his head tips down contrasted with the way he throws his shoulders back and displays himself is so indicative of his personality Sam can’t help but grin. He’s beautiful to look at and Sam loves him with all his heart.

“C’mere, D,” he says and when Dean comes forward, Sam _lives_ for the way Dean’s breath catches when he takes him in hand. Sam gets tingles all up his arms at the weight of his brother in his palm, the soft drag of his skin. His mouth isn’t watering, but it’s a damn near thing when he tugs and Dean sways on his knees. He reaches for Castiel’s hand, still slick and soft around him, and presses it over Dean’s erection.

“ _Cas,_ ” Dean says and Sam reaches blindly for the lube, unwilling to look away from the slack look on Dean’s face. “Sammy…”

“You slant to the left,” Castiel observes softly, interestedly and Sam laughs as he opens the lube again.

Dean’s eyes are slits of amused annoyance when he looks down at him, “Thanks, Captain Obvious, be sure to file your report with—” he hisses when Sam’s hand rejoins the mix, fingers lacing with Castiel’s and slathering Dean up. “ _Guys_ ,” he says tightly, putting a hand on Sam’s shoulder to stay upright.

“It’s still very nice,” Castiel assures him, “just like the rest of you.”

“One day I just want to feel you up,” Sam says unsteadily, watching their hands slide across Dean’s arousal even as his other hand creeps across Dean’s stomach. “Just lay you out and just keep touching you all over and finally, _finally_ kiss you everywhere I’ve wondered about.”

Castiel hums in agreement, but Dean calls Sam’s name like it’s a warning.

“You said you want me everywhere,” Sam breathes, looking up into Dean’s eyes. “Dean, I want to _be_ everywhere, I want to love you all over.” He startles when Dean’s hands are suddenly gripping his and Castiel’s wrists.

“If…” Dean heaves for breath for a second, “If you keep talking like that while y’all’re… I’ll come before I get to…”

Reluctantly, for both of them it seems, Castiel and Sam draw their hands away and Dean settles back on his knees. Sam shifts down in Castiel’s arms, taking a deep breath and laying his legs over Castiel’s, who spreads them even further.

“I’ll go slow,” Dean says as he lines up with unsteady hands, and even though it’s a line Sam can tell he means it.

“I know,” he says, stomach flipping as Dean presses against him, as he feels himself stretching to take him. “I— _Dean._ ” He knows his hands are too tight on Castiel’s thighs, but if he doesn’t hold on, he feels like he might shake away to nothing. This is everything he’s wanted for so long, Dean this close to him, loving him like this. The touches and care of the men he loves. He bites his lip against a whimper when Castiel kisses his ear, pushing his hair back from his forehead. If it weren’t for the pressure of his arm around Sam’s stomach, Sam might’ve started thrashing in spite of himself. He reaches up for Dean, “ _Please._ ”

“ _Fuck,_ ” Dean whispers emphatically. His face is twisted with pleasure even though he moves so slowly his thighs are straining with it. When his hips are finally flush with Sam’s, he presses their foreheads together, breathing unsteadily against Sam’s mouth. “Sam?”

“Yeah, _yes,_ Dean,” Sam says and shifts between them restlessly, hands sliding up to Dean’s neck and down his back, across his chest, unsure of what to even do with himself except _touch Dean._ “Fuck, Dean,” he’s babbling, but he can’t put any more thought into his words, “So good, I always— _it’s been years,_ Dean, I just wanted you.”

“ _Sammy_ ,” Dean croaks before Sam kisses him like he can’t quite help himself not to. He isn’t sure which one of them makes that choked sound, but he feels it like a kick in the chest. This has been so long coming, that it feels like learning to breathe deeply after spending a lifetime settling for gasping. Sam is adjusting to his brother being inside him physically and it feels _right_. They’ve never been more together than right now and he could just cry with it all.

“Dean,” Castiel says, voice steadier than either of them could possibly manage at this point. But whatever Dean sees in his face makes his mouth drop open slightly. Sam groans when Castiel reaches down to stroke him root to tip, more sure of his motions just in the time they’ve been here. “Don’t make him wait.”

“Please,” Sam gasps between kisses, “Please, please, please—”

“Yeah, Sammy,” Dean says and the jerky motion of his hips seems hesitant until Sam’s arms close around his back, fingers digging in. Dean stumbles into rhythm when Sam bites his jaw, licks away the sting.

Sam feels like he loses track of himself between their bodies, becomes something that exists solely under their touch. Castiel steady and safe behind him, his hands and lips a soothing warmth compared to Dean’s incessant heat, the motion of connecting himself with Sam again and again. Dean slides in deep, Castiel kisses his temple and scratches his chest, Dean bites his lips and shares his breath, Castiel’s hand slides down to cup his balls, press a finger against where he’s being stretched open, and everything else falls away, it’s just them, always just them.

When the edges of orgasm start to creep into his awareness, he almost wants to fight it. They’ve waited for each other for so long that it seems like their coming together should last forever. They’ve got years of wasted space between them and Sam isn’t ready to fall apart and step away again. He can hear the desperate tremor in his voice as he whines around his breaths, but he can’t stop. He isn’t sure if it’s sweat or tears on his face at this point, but he turns instinctually into Dean’s palm when it comes up to cup his cheek.

“It’s ok,” Dean says and looks him dead in the eyes as he says it. He’s fallen all off beat, chasing his pleasure, dragging Sam’s right along with him, but his eyes are all focus. Even as his voice goes all tight with emotion. “Come on, we got you,” he begs, “Let it go, Sammy.”

Castiel’s hand speeds up along Sam’s dick as he whispers against his ear, “Show him how good he makes you feel.”

And he does, he _does_ he feels so good, he can’t even begin to put it into words, but he thinks he tries. He babbles “ _good, Dean, so good_ ” and his body answers, too, clutching at them and bowing up between them, Dean sliding into him hot and hard and _grinding_ , biting at his throat when Sam’s head falls back against Castiel’s shoulder, mouth open wide on a moan as he comes all over himself.

“Perfect,” Castiel says like it’s just an observation, an objective fact. His hand is slippery with Sam’s come, but he continues to hold him as he throbs against his palm. “Perfect, Sam.”

“Yeah, Sammy, _so good,_ ” Dean gasps, hand sliding to squeeze Sam’s shoulder. Sam barely gets his eyes open in time to see Dean’s face contort with his orgasm as his hips stutter and stop, pressed achingly deep into Sam. The breathless sound he makes, the low uttering of Sam’s name, makes Sam’s heart kick in his chest.

“D,” Sam pants as Dean sags over them, panting against Sam’s throat.

“My Sammy,” Dean says against Sam’s collar bone, low and reverent. Sam swallows the emotion in his throat and puts his hands in Dean’s hair. Dean shudders in his arms and kisses his skin. He wants to communicate something he doesn’t have words for, but Sam hears it, feels it in the fragile happiness in his voice, the way his lips tremble against Sam’s skin.

“Yeah, Dean,” Sam answers and kisses his head, leaves his head tilted that way until Dean’s shoulders completely relax as he starts to draw out of him. He huffs at the trickling sensation that follows Dean’s dick, tries not to focus on the way he goes all hot over it.

“You ok?” Castiel asks softly, his hand now resting comfortingly on Sam’s thigh.

Sam turns to smile up at him, kisses his chin just because. “Better than ever.”

“You’re so corny,” Dean laughs and leans of the bed. Sam’s heart does a scary little flip when Dean picks up his shirt, but before he can even tense, Dean is back, dabbing at his ass with it.

“Dude!” Sam exclaims, sputtering when Dean then wipes over their dicks with it, too. “What the hell? There’s tissue _right there!_ ”

“What!? ‘s my shirt,” Dean defends, scrubbing at Castiel’s hand. Sam can tell he tosses the shirt back on the floor just to be a child about it and annoy Sam, but the thing is, it works well enough that Sam can’t help laughing.

It only gets worse when Castiel adds, “It _is_ a bit unsanitary.”

“You’re such a jerk,” Sam gasps, though it turns into a low hum when Dean kisses him.

“Yeah, and you’re a bitch,” Dean says, running his hand through Sam’s hair like he’s been wanting to do it forever. His eyes are still heartrendingly fond when he looks at Castiel, “And so are you. I don’t know how I put up with you.”

Castiel sniffs primly. “We’re your favorites,” he answers and Dean rolls his eyes.

With happiness bright and warm in his chest, Sam flops over onto the bed, dragging Castiel down on top of himself. “Yeah, we are,” he agrees laughingly, his legs still tangled in Dean’s, Castiel tangled in his arms. “He’s our favorite, too, though.”

Sam is prepared for Dean to tell him to knock it off, to teasingly call him princess for being so emotional about this. But instead, Dean’s face is twisted in a half-smile that makes Sam’s bubbliness… well, bubble up. It’s not the love potion anymore, Sam can see that; it’s just Dean. Dean feeling safe and happy enough to look down at them like they’re the world, to allow them to _see_ that vulnerability in him. It scares him to death, it really does, but Dean let’s them see exactly how much this means to him.

“Yeah, he is,” Castiel agrees and looks Dean dead in his eyes as he says it.

They’re not going to be held apart by their own fears anymore.

“Is it…” Sam swallows, makes himself speak firmly. “Is it too much to ask you guys to stay?” He doesn’t think he’s imagining the way Dean’s face eases which makes him start smiling before he even hears the answer.

“I would love to,” Castiel says, then continues honestly, “and I doubt you could ever do anything ‘too much’ relative to Dean.” He’s completely unmoved when Dean flips him off for it.

Dean stands to turn off the light before laying down next to Sam and, after just a second of self-conscious hesitation, rolls onto his side. “You’re not gonna make a chick-flick out of me,” he grumbles and definitely does not nuzzle Sam’s shoulder or reach over his stomach to stroke Castiel’s side.

Sam takes his hand in the darkness, comforted when Dean squeezes back. “I like this movie better anyway,” he whispers, then shouts when Dean kicks his shin, “ _Ow!_ ”

“No, chick flicks!” Dean barks.

The very same Dean gets shaken awake at Dark O’clock in the morning because Castiel’s arm has gone numb and Sam can’t breathe quite right with Dean sprawled on top of them like some sort of cuddle starved octopus.

Sam’s pretty sure Dean didn’t do it intentionally, but even if he did, well…

He’s not really annoyed.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading… you are loved and favored by more people than you think!
> 
> And a great big, _ginormous_ thank you to puckity for participating in the FTH auction and giving me the chance to contribute! My fic is just a small part of a big effort, so be sure to check out the rest of the collection! They’re thinking of making it annual, so keep your heads up! (And your chins up, too! It’s rough out there, but the fight isn’t done and neither are we!)
> 
> Oh, oh, PS+: The song that lights Sam up in the car is “The Lemon Song” by Led Zeppelin which… Golly, I feel like I don’t do enough drugs or have sex with _nearly_ enough girls to listen to.


End file.
